Strawberries and Innocence
by Moneybones
Summary: A romantic yet intensely citrusy lemon about a cute girl and a gentleman. Probably the best thing I've ever written. ChopinXPolka in here. Oneshot. May write a sequel if it gets good reviews.


This is my take on the scene where Polka and Chopin are talking about how he thinks the world is his dream early in the game, except it happens after the game. I don't quite get it either, just go with it. This is how I believe a lady should be treated. Please enjoy.

* * *

Polka and Chopin sat on a cliff over looking the city. They leaned against the tree that clung to the rock and dangled their feet over the edge. A picnic basket full of fresh berries and cakes sat forgotten by the side. The scene they overlooked was breathtaking; it was difficult to tell where the stars, the city lights, and the reflections ended or began. Polka's dress fluttered lightly in a cool sea breeze. Polka leaned forwards onto her knees, staring into the water far below. The waves crashed against the rocks, spraying seafoam into the air.

"So this is all just your dream then?" she asked him, still gazing downwards.

"I believe so," he replied, "This tree, the ocean, the city down there; even you are a figment of my subconscious imagination."

She thought about that.

"Well," she said "if that really is the case then it's a very nice dream, and you have a very nice imagination."

"I'm a composer; it's a requirement for my line of work."

They were both silent for a while. The leaves on the tree rustled in the wind. A few of them broke off, falling slowly down to the ocean.

"So," she said while she pulled herself up, "If I'm imaginary, it shouldn't matter if I jump off this cliff, should it?"

He closed his eyes and smiled while shaking his head.

"You're not going to jump." Chopin said matter of factly.

"Why do you think that?" Polka asked him, cocking her head at an angle and putting her hands on her hips.

"Because I know everything about this world. It's all in my head, so I have total control. That, I am sure of."

"Well then," she replied coyly with a mischievous smirk, "I'll just have to prove you wrong."

With that, Polka closed her eyes stepped off the edge.

"No wait!" Chopin shouted as he grabbed the back of her dress. With a sharp ripping noise it tore right down her back from her neck to her waist. She fell back onto her backside next to the tree and her head scarf drifted down to the waves.

"You didn't have to do that." Polka said as she rubbed her behind. "I was holding on to this."

She held up the branch she had held onto without him knowing, broken off in her hand.

"I'm sorry," he apologized earnestly. "but I thought…"

"That I was really going to do it?" she interrupted, "What happened to knowing everything?"

"You didn't though," he said after a moment of thought.

"But you thought for a second that I was going to. That means you weren't really sure. Don't you think, maybe, it's possible… I might be real?"

Polka took his hand by the wrist and laid his palm against her cheek. His hand slid slightly, and her skin felt soft and creamy beneath his hand.

"Don't I feel real?" she asked him, a tear sliding down her cheek and over his hand. "Just as real as you?" He looked at her face, but her hair had fallen down, obscuring her eyes from him. He put her hand underneath her chin and tilted her head upwards so he could see her face.

He had a sudden change of heart. "Polka, why the tears? Of course you're real." He leaned in closer and his cheek brushed against hers. She felt warm, like bread fresh from the oven, and smelled faintly of flowers.

"It doesn't matter. I…I'm sick. I'll be d-dead soon. Wouldn't it be better to be imaginary and a-alive than real and dead?" Polka said as more tears streamed down her face. They felt warm, but it was a sickly kind of warm, a warm unlike Polka, a warm he did not like.

"I'm sick too you know," he told her, "But I'm not crying. I've come to terms with it. If I die, I don't want to die crying. In a situation like ours it's best to live in the moment."

She slowly stopped crying for a moment, sniffled a bit, and began to lean forward. Before he knew it Polka's head was lying on his shoulder. Again her hair covered her face. She wrapped her arms around his chest. Chopin was startled at first, but then embraced her back, one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulder, his hand on the back of her head. He ran his fingers through her hair.

"What are you doing?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Living in the moment," she whispered, and kissed him.

At first she had to stand on her tip-toes to reach his face, but Chopin fixed that by lifting her up. She gasped a little as her feet left the ground, but was cut off when once again their lips met. He squeezed her tightly, and slowly, tentatively, began to stroke her tongue with his. She responded slowly at first, but soon their two tongues began to dance back and forth, gently, his leading, hers responding in kind.

She tasted sweet, like strawberries and innocence.

They broke for a moment, and her eyes met his. He could see the dazed gleam in her eyes, like she was looking far away, yet straight at him at the same time. It was as though her eyes were looking straight through to his soul, his mind.

"I don't mind you know. You're… not like the boys my age. You're…a gentleman" she said hesitantly.

He thought about it for a moment, gazing at her face as he did so. He felt the bare skin of her back through her ripped dress, running his fingers up her spine, almost as though he was playing a piano. She inhaled gently, and her chest rose up as her lungs filled with air. The result of such a movement was that her dress slipped a little, revealing the skin on her chest all the way down to the top of her brassiere. He put his mouth next to her head, and his lips brushed lightly against her ear as he whispered,

"Let's just play it by ear, shall we?"

She didn't answer, but instead closed her eyes. He brushed her hair out of her face, tilting her head back just enough that he could plant a trail of light kisses down her neck. He kissed her collar bone, tickling the sensitive flesh with just the tip of his tongue. He kept rhythm with her body, following the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing got steadily faster. Polka put both hands on the back of his head as he shifted her dress down around her waist, exposing her soft smooth stomach. She laid back, resting her head against one of the trees roots and kicked off her shoes.

He trailed his face down her chest, lightly tugging at the middle of her brassiere with his nose as he passed between her breasts. He began kissing her belly, nipping gently with his teeth as he rounded her naval, resisting the temptation to go down further. Instead he started working his way back up. Polka grabbed at the grass above her head and leaned back.

He softly pushed his fingers up into the left cup of her brassiere. He worked slowly towards the center, moving his fingertips in small circles, up, down, up, down. Each time he went a little further up, getting closer to his eventual destination. Almost unexpectedly, his fingers brushed over her nipple. It was soft, softer than down and more pleasurable to touch. He pushed the tip in a circle with his index finger, and then rolled it between his finger and thumb. She moaned ever so slightly, almost as if she was warming up her voice before a solo performance.

"Ahh… Aaah… Ah!" she let slip from her lips with every tweak of his fingers.

Without stopping his dexterous pleasuring of her nipple he reached around behind her and undid the clasp on her brassiere. It slipped down to her belly, exposing her breasts to the cool night air. They weren't overly large, but she wasn't flat either. They were, however, perfectly shaped, rounded underneath, gently sloped on top. Her nipples were on the small side of medium sized, and were the color of strawberry ice cream. He cupped her right breast in his hand, squeezing it gently and raising it up towards his mouth. Chopin paused for a moment, then reached over to the picnic basket and retrieved a strawberry. It was ripe and plump; he brushed it against her lips, coaxing her tongue out. She bit the tip off, and he leaned in for a kiss. Now she really did taste like strawberries. He squeezed the strawberry and the juices drizzled down onto her nipple and dripped down her breast. He wrapped his lips around her nipple and began to stimulate it with the tip of his tongue. He swirled it slowly around the edge of her areola, then brought it to the center as he sped up. He pulled her nipple up into her mouth and sucked firmly. By that time Polka had begun to hyperventilate just a bit. He finished by raking his teeth over her nipple softly.

Chopin eased up on her chest, and sat up next to her. Polka sat up too, kneeling in front of him. She shivered just a bit.

"Here, let me fix that," he said as he took off his coat.

He gave it to her, and she put it on. It was a little large for her; the sleeves came down over her hands. She rolled the sleeves up past her elbows and took his top hat, placing it on her own head. She smiled at him and winked.

Chopin pushed the strawberry onto her lips, where it met with a delicate response as she finished eating it. He lent her his mouth to aid in the consumption of the berry, and also because he couldn't resist another strawberry flavored kiss.

"You know," she thought out loud, "I don't think that's enough."

She reached out and unbuttoned his vest, and then his shirt. He watched as her dainty fingers undid the buttons one by one. When she finished she slid them down off of his arms and let them fall to the ground. They embraced again and laid down next to each other. Polka rested her head on his chest, and her hair splayed out across his pecs. She nuzzled his chest softly, and her eyelashes tickled him like butterflies. He let her lay there for a while, and then pulled her up by her hips, placing her on his lap, one leg to either side. She fumbled with the clasp on her skirt, but Chopin reached out to help, and it fell away. She leaned over him, and her hair fell over both of their faces. She kissed him, pushing her body against his every time her mouth moved.

Chopin grasped her around her midsection and rolled over. He knelt between Polka's legs as she laid on the ground. He planted gentle kisses on her thighs, and stroked her hips down to her thighs. Her knees bent a bit and she leaned her head back, submitting to whatever he wanted to do to her. His mouth hovered over her panties, letting his hot breath warm her. He felt her tremble; he was taking his time, making her want it more. He stroked the edges where the lace met her legs, and slid his hands down to her knee high socks. He kissed her stomach just below the naval, and then gripped the waist band of her panties between his teeth. He pulled them off with just his mouth until he reached her knees, and finished with his hands. Polka laid there a moment in just her socks, his hat, and his coat. He leaned in and lightly kissed her between her thighs. He began to work in his tongue, pressing deeper and deeper with the tip, reaching towards her core. Polka let out a little gasp and arched her back, bumping his cheekbones with her hips. He raised his head, allowing a thin strand of saliva and her sticky sweetness to linger between them for a moment.

He undid the buckle on his belt, and pulled his already rock hard member from his pants. He moved in, but she hesitated.

"I've never, um, I…" she verbally floundered as she tried to explain her hesitation.

"It's alright," he told her, "Why don't we warm you up first?"

Chopin retrieved her parasol from its place leaned up against the tree. He slid it across her belly, letting the silk rub against her creamy skin. Then he placed the tip against her opening, and twisted. He felt her body shudder, and began to move the umbrella in deeper. He slid it in and out, just deep enough to pleasure but not deep enough to pop her cherry, and the silk became slick from her wetness. Her breasts heaved as her body moved up and down with the motion of the umbrella, her mouth opened in a silent O.

Chopin was about ready to pull the umbrella out when he bumped the release by mistake. It opened inside her, pressing against her inner walls as it tried to open past three or four inches. The pressure was too much for her body, and she came then. A bright orange light emanated from her pale body, flashing like a pillar of intense sunshine into the dark night. Her juices gushed down the umbrella and over Chopin's hand. He pulled it out and licked it. Polka watched as he lapped up her flavors from the silk of the umbrella, then sucked it off of his fingers one at a time.

"Shall we try the real thing now?" he asked.

She nodded silently, a little dazed from the ecstasy she had just experienced. Chopin leaned over her, letting the shaft of his cock rub against her opening, stimulating her with the throbbing pulse of his veins. With his hands he held both of her petite breasts, massaging them with the skill of a master pianist. In his excitement he accidentally let off a bit of electricity magic, a small static shock that washed over her body and gently stimulated every nerve from head to toe. Polka couldn't wait any longer. She reached down and grasped his cock with her soft, delicate hands and guided the tip to her moist flower.

He pushed in gently, and Polka began to whimper. But soon the initial pain was overcome by the pleasure, and she was soon moaning softly as his thrusts increased in depth and speed. He bit her collarbone softly, but she soon pulled his mouth up to hers, where they locked in a passionate kiss, no longer hesitant, but firm and loving. She climaxed again, and waves of warm bliss washed over her body. He wrapped his arms around her and set up. She was in his lap, and they embraced again. This time it was Polka who was in control of the movement, bouncing up and down in his lap. Chopin reached into his coat pocket and took out his baton. He ran the tip of it down her spine as she moved, heightening the sensual experience. He tapped her derriere, sharply enough that it almost stung but lightly enough not to hurt her. He drew all over her back with it, swirling and stroking her perfect skin.

Chopin grasped her hips and moved her faster, harder. Each time their hips collided it was as though the whole world was bursting, swimming in a dazzling array of colors and sounds. They both started breathing faster, and faster.

They both came then, intense and warm, a collidescope of ecstasy and love. Again the orange light sprang from her body, but this time it was met by the equal force of the dark purple energy flowing from Chopin. They intertwined and sprang into the night sky like fireworks, bathing everything in a brilliance the likes of which stunned anybody who happened to look into the sky at that moment. Chopin collapsed backwards onto the ground and Polka fell on top of him. They lay there for a minute, breathing hard and snuggling. Their bodies began to cool as their sweat evaporated in the chill ocean breeze. Polka sighed happily, and briefly kissed him on the neck.

"I think I love you Chopin," she whispered in his ear.

"Is that an appropriate thing for a young lady to say to a man my age?" He asked her as he cocked one eyebrow.

"Is what we just did an appropriate thing for a young lady to do with a man your age?" she countered.

"Point taken," Chopin admitted, "I love you too."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied firmly as he pulled her body against his, "I do."

She laid her head against his chest one last time.

"That's good," she half whispered, half yawned, and fell asleep on his chest.

He gazed at her in wonder, studying the topography of her face. He took in everything, from the sweet curves of her lips to the golden spray of hair that wreathed her face like a halo. He felt his chest swell up, and squeezed her gently, as though the whole world was in his arms.

"Right now, Polka," he whispered to the sleeping angel, "nothing else matters. You are the only thing that is real to me."

He caressed her face softly, not wanting to wake her but unable to resist touching her soft cheek.

Polka smiled in her sleep.

* * *

Thank you for reading this. This is, and probably will remain, my favorite lemon written by me. I loved Polka so much when I was playing that I never removed her from my party, even when another character would have benefited me more. Every time she got hurt I would have Chopin rush to her rescue. I think they make a cute couple. Again, thank you for reading. Please review this, and read some of my other works, though this one is, in my opinion, my best one.


End file.
